Dark Ascension
by S. Avery
Summary: Harry meets Draco Malfoy outside platform nine and three-quarters instead of Ron Weasley. What happens next? Strange how a few minutes can change everything. Now properly edited.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Don't own HP.

A/N - I excerpted a lot out of HPB1. The change in plot would not, I believe, change what something looks like and so forth.

A/N 2 - Draco may appear to be a bit OOC in the chapter, this is what I imagined him to be under these circumstances.

A/N 3 - Draco and Harry never met in Diagon Alley.

* * *

Dark Ascension

Chapter One

The Ride to Change

* * *

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something he had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley, or maybe he had to wait until the clock reached a certain time, after all, he was early by all standards. He wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between the platforms nine and ten.

At that moment two people passed just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"—bloody Muggles--"

Harry swung round. The speaker was a tall man with grey eyes, who was talking to, what Harry assumed, was his son, for he had the same eyes, and both had pale blond hair. The boy was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him – and in a cage, was an Eagle owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his trolley after them. They stopped and so did he, just near enough to hear what, he assumed, the father, was saying.

"You remember what I told you Draco?" asked the man.

"Yes, father," said the pale boy. "Walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. And don't be scared and don't stop or else I'll crash and embarrass us."

"Yes, very good."

Harry recognized that they must be talking about the platform nine and three-quarters and relief flushed over his body.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the grey, pointed man.

"And who might you be?" he asked. His eyes seemed to be judging Harry at that very second, as if he was contemplating whether or not the boy was even worthy to be spoken to. Suddenly becoming very aware of the muggle clothing and his slight slouch, straightening up, Harry answered.

"Harry Potter, sir," he said.

The tall man's, along with his son's, eyes bulged with recognition. The boy was the first to speak.

"Do you actually have the scar then?" said the boy, his voice almost hiding away his excitement. But this quickly faded as he father gave him a stern look.

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind showing us the famous scar, just to make sure you are who you say you are. After all, Harry Potter is famous," asked the man.

Harry agreed to show them, wondering just how many would treat him like this. He lifted up his bangs to reveal the lightning bolt.

The grey-eyed man seemed to smirk grandly, as if he just won a prize but cheated while doing so. The boy too, mimicked that same smirk.

"Harry Potter. What a pleasant surprise. Sorry for the rude introduction, as it is not every day one of the most powerful wizards walk in the station wearing… muggle clothes, after disappearing for nearly eleven years. Please forgive my rudeness," he apologized with a slight bow of his head.

Harry hesitated, not being used to politeness being pointed in his direction does that to a person. But he nodded in acceptance.

"We are the Malfoys, this is my son, Draco, and you can call my Lucius. It's a pleasure to meet you." Both of them held out their hands and Harry shook them.

"Yes, pleasure to meet you too. I was just wondering how to get on to er, the platform," said Harry.

"Oh, well there's not much to it. Just run straight between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't hesitate, just be confident. My son will be right behind you to help you from there on, if you need it."

"Er—okay, thanks," said Harry.

"Do not worry about it, and good luck at your term, Mr. Potter," he said.

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

His hands began to grip the trolley more tightly and they were beginning to sweat as he walked towards the wall. He was going to smash right into it. Mr. Malfoy told him to be confident, and so he tried to be, his shoulders squaring up a bit more, he took a deep breath. _Don't stop and don't hesitate_ he echoed in his head. The barrier was coming nearer and nearer. Surely there'd been stranger things in the past month, why not a wall you can walk through? He was a foot away. He closed his eyes waiting for a crash.

It didn't come… he kept walking… and opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead read Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway with the words _Platform Nine and Three-quarters_ on it. He had done it. There really was no going back now.

Just then the boy, Draco, if Harry heard right, came through the archway. Harry waved to him as he collected his bearings. Draco smiled, or what seemed like a smile, it was always somewhat of a smirk, and walked briskly towards him, pushing his trolley.

"Hey Harry," greeted Draco "Sorry about my father, he can be a bit intimidating sometimes."

"Oh, its fine, after all, he did help me," said Harry.

"Well, regardless, I invite you to sit with me and a couple of friends on the train to make up for it," said Draco.

Harry by no means had ever been invited to sit with someone. Dudley ruined that chance by scaring off all the other kids. The boy seemed nice enough too, and who was he to deny it? He never had a friend before, and he desperately thought he needed one in this new, odd world.

"Yeah, I'll sit with you, thanks," replied Harry. Draco grinned in delight.

"Speaking of friends, where they anyway?" wondered Draco as he looked around.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over-seats.

"They'll just find us then," said Draco, giving up his search.

They pressed through the crowd with Draco in the lead, his head held high. They found an empty compartment near the middle of the train. They put their pets inside first and they started to push and shove their heavy trunks up the steps leading towards the train's door. That is until Draco called over a "Slytherin prefect", he called him, and demanded, yes demanded, him to help them with their trunks.

Harry had mixed feelings about Draco; it seemed he was only nice to the people he deemed worth of, and to other people, he put off this arrogant attitude. Harry wasn't sure which one was truly him, but as Draco was his first friend Harry had at his age, he shrugged it off.

And Draco's family had to be powerful, or at least something along those lines to have people actually listen to his demands. And it's good to be friends with those types of people right? _Better than not being friends with them_, decided Harry.

Once they had found an empty compartment, Draco flopped down on one of the seats while Harry sat across from him. Draco sighed and went off into his own world for a moment, obviously thinking of something important, as his gray eyes seemed intent on staring at the ceiling.

Harry took this moment to take in his surroundings. He looked out the window to examine the platform; everything was still new to him. Outside, Harry noticed a group that stood out from the crowd; maybe it was their drab ragged clothing, or perhaps their shocking red hair, whatever it was, they caught his eye. He watched as the mother of the five or six children frantically hurried them onto the train and at the same kept them longer than necessary.

Harry suddenly felt a pang in his stomach. His parents should be here, waving to him goodbye as he left to face his first year. But no, that wasn't going to happen, and he knew that. It all hurt the same though.

"Are you okay?" asked Draco. It had slipped Harry's eye that the boy had sat up straight and was now looking at him, almost studiously, like he was taking notes for future reference.

It was awkward to Harry to say the least.

"Yes," answered Harry, "I'm fine, just wishing something that'll probably never happen."

"Well, maybe my father could help you with that, he is very influential," said Draco.

Harry smiled at his new friend's obvious dependence on his parental being. "No thanks, I don't think it's something he can help with."

"Oh," Draco simply said, as if he was wondering what possible problem his father could not solve. "Well, I'm here if you need any help with anything. But I'm sure you don't after all, you defeated you-know-who."

"No," Harry sighed, "I bet I'll need help with lots, everything is still so new to me." He finally voiced, for the first time, something that had been worrying him a lot lately. "I bet I'll be the worst in the class."

"You won't be. Tons of Mu- people from Muggle families will be, I bet. Besides, you already accomplished something wizards and witches have been trying to do for years. Speaking of which, where have you been all these years?" asked Draco, curiosity getting the better of him.

Harry, now a little more reassured and confident that he was supposed to be here, told Draco of how he didn't even know he was a wizard until about a month ago, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to depress Draco, as if he felt sorry for him. He kept muttering about how awful muggles and such were.

"… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about magic or about my parents or Voldemort—"

Draco scoffed.

"What?" said Harry.

"Figures, you at eleven years old, can say his name, while some full-grown adults can't," explained Draco

"Well, I'm not trying to impress anyone, but I just never learned not to say the name," said Harry.

"Yeah, being brought up by Muggles must've been harsh." Draco sounded disgusted.

"It had its ups and downs, I guess." Harry shrugged.

While they had been talking, the train apparently had started moving and had carried them out of London to the country side. The two were quiet for awhile, watching the fields and lanes past by on fast forward.

"You miss your parents don't you?" said Draco, "I saw you, watching the Weasleys earlier, the odd bunch they are."

Harry, who had nothing against the Weasleys, agreed on both points to an extent.

"I guess," Harry admitted, "it's not so much the fact that I miss them, I never really knew them anyway, but more or less the… figure of them. See? I've got so much to catch up on, without having my parents there to teach me, I still think this might be some sort of dream, I guess. I just wish Voldemort hadn't…"

"Harry, I told you, you'll do fine. Plus, you have me and my friends, really," reassured Draco, again.

Harry let himself smile. He was going to have friends, such as Draco, who already was the closest person he'd known, and maybe his friends too would become Harry's. It was a great day.

"And about the Dark Lord though, do you know anything at all about the war?" said Draco.

"No, only that Voldemort was a Dark wizard and he went bad, as bad as you could go," said Harry. Seeing Draco frown, he quickly finished with "atleastthatswhatHagridsaid." He didn't want to lose his first friend over something that happened years ago.

"Many witches and wizards have their own opinions and ideals. And few take action upon them…" Draco went on about how Voldemort was a powerful wizard who believed that England, or the whole entire wizarding world, was getting weaker by the moment due to "muggle filth." And Voldemort wanted to put a stop on that. Some people just didn't agree with his ways of going about it and that's where the war came into the picture.

Harry was silent throughout Draco's lecture, listening and deciding which ideal he believed in. It was hard, he agreed with Voldemort on some of his points, but what would his parents say, if they were here, weren't they on the other side of the war? Is it wrong for him to agree that muggles were in fact filth, from what he experienced under a cupboard? _I'm too young for this_, he thought.

He was interrupted out of his reflection by a smiling, dimpled woman who slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Both boys jumped to their feet, and with their combined wealth, almost filled their compartment with different sorts of candy.

Draco and Harry had a blast with all the assorted sweets and toffee ranging from experimenting with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and chasing down Chocolate Frogs. It took Draco almost half an hour to explain the card game and list off every single card he had.

The countryside had progressively faded, replaced by woods, winding rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth poked her head in.

"Sorry," she said, "but have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one." She had a bossy sort of voice.

They both shook their heads and she sighed.

"Well if any of you see him…"

And she left.

"Why in the world would you bring a toad? Honestly, at least bring something dignified like a snake," said Draco. Harry couldn't agree with him more.

There was another rap on the door, causing Draco to groan. A pretty girl, Harry thought, with dirty blond hair and a round face entered their compartment with her Hogwarts robes already on. Following her were two thickset boys with bulky faces that stood on either side of her, they looked like body guards.

"Finally, I found you, Draco!" she said, enveloping him into a hug and then sitting down. The bodyguards went outside, apparently guarding the compartment door. Her eyes finally traveled to Harry.

He shifted in his seat. It wasn't very often he was under the scrutiny of a girl, let alone a pretty one.

"Yeah, well if you met me on the platform like you were supposed to," said Draco. The blond girl just shrugged and continued to stare curiously at Harry. "Oh, yes. Tracey, this is Harry Potter. Harry this is Tracey Davis, one of my friends. And outside the door are Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle, they don't talk much."

Tracey tilted her head sideways and did a small wave in which Harry returned.

"I thought I recognized you," she said. Her voice had an intelligent feel to it, almost like what Harry imagined Hedwig's voice to be, only younger.

"Um, well, thanks…"said Harry, he shifted in his seat again. She smiled.

"Anyways, it's very nice to meet you. How did you and Draco meet?" she asked.

"I was raised by Muggles that dropped me off at the station, so I didn't really know how to get onto the platform," explained Harry.

"And my father and I were there to help him," said Draco.

"That would explain it. I read about you, you know," said Tracey. "You're in about three books along with your parents…Not to make this awkward or anything."

"Don't worry," Harry smiled, even though he was tad dazed. "Stranger things have happened to me."

"I wouldn't doubt it," said Draco with a hint of amusement. "Anyway Tracey, how was the rest of your holidays? I haven't seen you since you came over for the trip to Romania."

"The same old, nothing I haven't told you in the owls," she answered. "Oh, did you guys hear about what happened at Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet, _someone tried to break into a high security vault."

Harry stared. Didn't Hagrid say it was one of the safest places outside of Hogwarts?

"What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why everyone's making a big deal about it, they haven't been caught and they also didn't take anything," she leaned in, "Some people think the Dark Lord is behind it."

Harry reviewed this news over in his head. If Voldemort was behind it, wouldn't he or one of his followers come and finish the job that he failed to do? He started to think he should be worried every time someone said that name too.

"That's a load of rubbish," said Draco. "My father would've told me if he was he's one of the first people to hear what they say at the ministry."

"Just telling you what I heard," Tracey shrugged.

There was yet another tap on the door, and a boy, who looked to be about fifth year judging by his acne and his prefect badge, poked his head through.

"We're nearly there, better get changed," he said and then left.

Harry viewed the scenery out the window, it was getting dark and he could barely see the mountains and forests under the sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

He and Draco took off their overcoats and pulled on their long black robes. Both were of the finest silk, their wealth apparent.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's palms were sweaty again; his stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies.

After much bustling and jostling Harry, Draco, and Tracey filed into a small group consisting of first years, led by Hagrid.

The wary first years followed Hagrid down to a steep, narrow path, lined with thick trees. Harry could swear he smelled a lake somewhere, but it came and went as the forest overtook it. Nobody spoke much, as there wasn't much to say. They turned a tight corner and Harry found himself staring at a castle straight out of the middle ages, only bigger with many more turrets and towers.

And near them, was a shore with a fleet of boats sitting in the water. Draco led Harry and Tracey into their own boat.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then, forward!"

The fleet of little boats moved forward in unison, gliding across the glassy water. Everyone was staring up at the vast castle before them in silence. It seemed it got bigger and bigger until it was all that they could see.

They boats reached an opening in the cliff face and were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to take them to an underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? Good," said Hagrid.

He raised his enormous fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	2. Chapter 2

Dark Ascension

Chapter Two

The Sorting

The door swung open at once. A tall black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time the house common room

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each had produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as a much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the cloak of the toad-boy, which was fastened under his left ear, and the tall, red-haired boy's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair as Draco straightened out his robes next to him.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"Do you know how they sort us into houses exactly?" he asked Draco.

"My father wouldn't tell me, but he said it was nothing too bad," Draco answered. "Hopefully you'll get into Slytherin; my family has been sorted in there for ages."

Harry's heart gave a small jolt. Didn't Hagrid say that all witches and wizards who go into that house come out 'bad'? Draco's father didn't seem too bad to him, though. Maybe Hagrid lied. Maybe he'd have to figure that out by himself. He looked around anxiously and saw everyone else looked worried, except for Draco and Tracey who looked to be a bit bored. He tried to mimic them; he didn't want to embarrass his new friends by his uncollected composure.

But Harry was still nervous. The only ones talking were the Weasley kid and the bushy-haired girl he had met on the train. The red-head was talking about how his brothers told him they had to fight a troll to a sandy-haired boy, while the girl was listing off all the possible spells she might need. Harry tried not to listen to them. His palms began to sweat, even more than they did when he had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. _Just be calm_, he told himself, _like Draco and Tracey._ Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back now and they'd get it over with.

Apparently the boredom was too much for Draco, as he overheard Weasley say something about a troll, and scoffed at Weasley's brain being easily fooled. He bent over to Harry and whispered "Like the Weasleys could fight a troll. Two galleons say he doesn't even make it through the ceremony." But it wasn't a whisper; Harry knew it was meant to be heard.

Crabbe and Goyle, the two meatheads, let out snicker, as did Tracey, though hers was a bit more polite. Harry let out a nervous smile cross his face, if this was what his friends did, he didn't want to be left out of the loop.

"I don't know Draco, his hair might possibly set the troll on fire," said Harry. A few of the other first years laughed along with Draco and his friends.

Harry's stomach twisted inside him though. It wasn't too long ago that he was in Weasley's position, only instead of Dudley being the bully, it was him, and for no other reason than his friends' amusement. He knew how it felt to get singled out, and it was definitely not a good feeling, but it was better than him getting singled out, right?

"Oi! Shut your trap Malfoy and…" Ron was at a loss, he didn't know who Harry was, and his face almost matched the colour of his hair.

"That wasn't very nice," said the bushy-haired girl a few paces over.

Draco looked at her up and down, and his face turned into a snarl.

"Shut up," he put it simply.

The girls face went through shock and came out a glare. Harry and Draco glared right back.

"Attention," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. And the glaring had immediately stopped replaced with nervous looks.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind Draco, and in front of Tracey, and walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, ghosts—Harry rubbed his eyes, ghosts? Pearly- white and slightly transparent, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard the bushy-haired girl whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History."_ It was at this point Harry wondered if she would ever stop talking.

Harry's attention snapped back down again, as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was patched, frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Harry overheard the Weasley kid whisper "Maybe we have to try and get a rabbit out of it." He thought he was joking, but that thought quickly faded as he saw his face was completely serious. Harry wondered, with all the kids the Weasleys have, if he wasn't dropped on his head a few times.

Harry noticed that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat; he stared at it, too. For a few seconds there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh you may not think me pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"Told you it was no big deal," Draco whispered to Harry "we just have to try on the hat."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was no big deal, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbot, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The Table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw a ghost of a fat little monk waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Weasley's twin brothers cat-calling.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him. Just then, he heard a familiar name being called.

"Davis, Tracey!"

Tracey took a deep breath while Harry and Draco wished her the best of luck. She strode calmly towards the stool and her eyes vanished under the hat. And they waited, and waited, and waited some more. Harry wondered what was happening that could possibly take this long.

"SLYTHERIN!" shouted the hat finally.

A horrible thought struck Harry just then, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if the he just sat there for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy- haired girl ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

"Thank Merlin," Draco whispered to Harry. He smiled.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Longbottom. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," he ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amidst gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called, and Harry wished him good luck. He responded with his smirk-smile saying, "Malfoys don't need luck, Harry."

And it was true; the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco went to join Tracey who was being guarded by Crabbe and Goyle, both looked pleased with themselves. He gave the thumbs up Harry.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon" …, "Nott" …., "Parkinson" …, then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"…, then "Parks, Sally-Anne" …, and then at last –

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter,_ did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside o the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult, very difficult ... plenty of courage, I see. Oh, and a brilliant mind too. And there's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?

Harry's mind quickly raced through all he's ever heard of the different houses. He thought of Draco in Slytherin, of Mr. Malfoy, of what Hagrid had said about the house, of Voldemort, and then he briefly wondered what house or houses his parents were in.

"You could do well in Slytherin, never mind what others think of that house. You could be powerful. You could be great, no doubt about that. Yes, you will do well in SLYTHERIN!"

Harry lifted the hat off his head and handed it to Professor McGonagall, who had a frown on her face. He was so relieved he didn't notice the complete silence until about half way there. He paused. Did he do something wrong? His heart skipped two beats.

He noticed Draco starting to clap at the Slytherin Table, then Tracey, then Crabbe and Goyle, slowly getting louder. And then the table erupted into cheers, quite possibly the loudest one yet. Marcus Flint, he was told, got up and shook his hand vigorously, while a few sixth years were singing, "Suck it, fools!" Harry sat down opposite Tracey and next to Draco.

"Good job, I knew you had it in you!" said Draco, obviously pleased.

"Yes, very good job, Harry," said Tracey with a smile.

Harry smiled back. He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him a confused look. Harry shrugged it off. Hagrid was nice, but really, he was a bit of an "oaf" as Draco called him. But there, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban and appeared to be lost in his own world, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Weasley, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw. And then Weasley's turn came. He was pale green by now. Draco snickered, and whispered in Harry's ear "He looks like an upside down carrot now," causing Harry to snicker along with him. A second later the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Suits him, his hair's almost the same shade as their colour," whispered Harry to Draco, as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin and sat next to Tracey. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away, a frown still apparent on her face.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. Chocolate Frog hunting seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see all them there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he asked Draco uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Draco. "Yes, my father says he's mad. Powerful though, it was once said that he was the only the Dark Lord ever feared, but nevertheless mad. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dish in front of him was now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.

After a few mouthfuls, Harry felt a sudden, horrible feeling like he'd just plunged into a bucket of ice-cold water. He looked up, and staring right back at him was a horrible ghost, with blank eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. The ghost tilted his head sideways, bowed, and went on his way to terrify other students. And the feeling left Harry just as quickly as it came.

"Who was that?" he asked Tracey or Draco, whichever one wasn't taking in a mouthful of food at that moment.

"Oh, that's the Bloody Baron, he's the house ghost of Slytherin, never talks much," said the dark-skinned boy sitting next to Tracey. Blaise Zabini was it?

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Harry with great interest.

"No one ever really knows," Zabini said dismissively and began eating again.

Harry shrugged it off and he too became indulged with food once more.

When everyone had stuffed their faces as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs, and jam doughnuts, trifle, and strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding …

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families and bloodlines.

"I'm a pureblood," said Tracey. "Family goes back ages, never really bothered to count how many generations, though."

The others nodded in acceptance.

"What about you, Blaise?" said Draco.

"Well, I'm a pureblood, out of my mother's second marriage," said Blaise. "She's now in her, I think, fifth marriage? I'm not sure, but I am sure to say that it's not going to last much longer. The men always try and think they can get away from stealing our money, bit of a shock when they can't."

A few others laughed.

On Harry's other side, Vince, Greg, and Flint were talking about this game called, Quidditch. From what he gathered so far, it was played on a broomstick and they were players at positions called 'beaters' but that was just about it. He decided to ask Draco, he seemed to have a good grasp on things.

"Quidditch?! You don't know what Qui—oh that's right, you wouldn't," he smiled apologetically. "Quidditch is –"and he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his father, and how they always get the best seats in the stadium, and the broomstick he had recently got for his birthday a month ago and how it'd be "a real shame if neither of them gets picked for the House team this year".

As there was less and less Draco could tell him, Harry started to feel warm and sleepy, and looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirell's turban straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Tracey.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look – a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Marcus Flint, one of the prefects.

"Oh, that's Professor Snape. He's our Head of House and the Potions master. He's wicked nice to us and real nasty to others, good thing you're in his house eh?" said Marcus.

Harry got a sunken feeling in his stomach, for some reason, he didn't think it was a good thing at all.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed along with Draco, but they were some of the few who did.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, and the majority of the Slytherins groaned.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it and rose high above the tables twisting itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Harry didn't sing along, and neither did most first-years, he watched as the Weasley twins over at the Gryffindor table were always about two or three lines behind. Next to them was their brother, Ron. Their eyes met for a moment and Weasley gave a nasty glare, carefully returned by Harry. He was becoming less and less worried about making fun of him earlier and more and more wished he could've said more.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his yes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot, this year has promised to be exciting one, full with unexpected changes!"

His eyes connected with Harry's as he finished his sentence. And Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd somehow disappointed the Professor. He didn't do anything wrong, did he?

Harry's anxiety grew more and more as he thought of the possibilities, maybe he wasn't supposed to be in Slytherin? Or maybe he took too many shares at dinner, or possibly his robes were the wrong kind.

The Slytherin first years followed Flint through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a stone staircase.

He was so wrapped up in his worries that he failed to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors were whispering and pointing as they passed, or that it was growing colder and darker, and apparently they were going into the dungeons, where it was dimly lit and the ceiling was low.

At the end of a labyrinth of corridors, they reached a stretch of a blank stone wall. The group stopped in front of it, many with questioning looks.

"Slytherin Supremacy," said Flint, and the wall disassembled itself to reveal a wooden door. Flint opened it and they all ducked through entrance way and found themselves in the Slytherin common room, this also had a low ceiling, but was relatively cosy for a room under the lake, as they were told, which is why it had greenish lamps, and greenish chairs to match those lamps.

Marcus directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the bottom of a spiral staircase – they were obviously deep under the lake now – they found their beds at last: six four posters hung with deep green velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they quickly decided whose beds were whose. Harry chose the one next to the window, which had been enchanted to not break under the water pressure, as it looked out into the lake, with Draco to his right and Blaise to his left. They pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. Professor Dumbledore was standing in front of him, holding a clear, crystal ball in one of his hands. He was telling Harry he must transfer to Gryffindor at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the Professor he didn't want to be in Gryffindor, and the twinkling in his eyes quickly faded, instead there was a snarl now. Dumbledore raised his hand to strike, and it came forwards, but instead of feeling the impact, Harry now felt a turban over his whole head that seemed to protect him. But then a searing pain erupted across his scar and there was a burst of green light. Harry awoke with a start, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dark Ascension

Chapter Three

First Impressions

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the kid with the blond hair."

"Why's he in Slytherin?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left the dungeons the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on different days; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armour could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. The Bloody Baron seldom gave specific directions, and just nodded his head in the general path, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. Draco told Harry that he was always a nuisance and a troublemaker, and only the Baron seemed to be able to control him. Peeves would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech "GOT YOUR CONK!" Or so Harry had been told, he hadn't encountered Peeves yet, maybe because he was in Slytherin or he was Harry Potter, but either way Harry didn't plan on meeting the ghost.

Even worse than Peeves, though, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Draco, and Tracey managed to get on the wrong side of him their very first morning. Filch found them trying to take, what Draco believed, was a secret passage to the other side of the school. It unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. Filch didn't believe Draco when he explained that he thought it was a shortcut, and to make matters worse, when Draco tried to "bribe" him, saying his father could get him a more important job, he got angrier and threatened to lock them in the dungeons. Thankfully they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing by.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Tuesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, or in Draco's case, slept.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross, and he somehow got the notion that he had already done something to wrong her. When she called Harry's name during roll call, she frowned like she did at the Sorting Ceremony, and there was always confusion in her eyes when she looked down on him.

But yes, strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Tracey had made any difference to her match and Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Blaise Zabini asked to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and Theodore Nott insisted it had been dipped in garlic oil, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Throughout the lesson though, Harry felt as if he was being constantly eyed by the Professor, as if being judged. It wasn't a comfortable feeling to say the least. And at the end of the lesson, Quirrell called him up at the end of the class.

"M-Mr. Potter," stuttered Quirrell, "I-I was talking to P-Professor D-D-Dumbledore, and we both thought it'd be a g-good idea for you to have extra t-training, d-due to your unique circumstance."

"I'm sorry sir," said Harry, "but why would I need unique training from the others?"

Professor Quirrell frowned; Harry suspected the professor thought he'd just accept the invitation. "S-surely you must know you d-d-defeated the D-Dark Lord." Harry nodded. "And you m-must know he had followers?" Harry nodded again. "Y-yes, well, D-Dumbledore and others won't always b-be around, and w-what if one of his followers c-come try to finish the j-job? T-that's why, Mr. P-Potter."

"All right sir," accepted Harry, his mind racing. "What time should we meet?"

"I'll send an owl Friday, Mr. Potter," said Professor Quirrell with a slight smile.

"Thank you sir," said Harry as he rushed out of the classroom. He was getting a dark vibe in there; something about Professor Quirrell made the hair on the back of his next stand up. But, he was nevertheless happy; he was going to have special training, hopefully the Professor's private sessions with him weren't like his classes.

Harry was also very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families, and like him, hadn't any idea they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn, and while Draco and Tracey helped him most of the time, they too were still learning.

Friday was an important day for Harry, Draco, and Tracey. They finally managed to find their way up to the Great hall for breakfast without having to ask for directions once.

"What's today's schedule?" Harry asked Tracey as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindorks," sighed Tracey.

"Professor Snape teaches that class though," said Draco, "we'll do fine, he and my father are great friends, and he favours us more than anyone else."

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped two notes onto Harry's plate. Harry tore open the first one his hand reached at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Hopefully Slytherin isn't treating you too bad. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry frowned, who did the oaf think he was? Slytherin was his house, and the Slytherins were his friends; of course they wouldn't treat him badly. He sighed and opened the next note. This one was much neater than the last.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I know you have Friday afternoons off, and I believe that would be a perfect time to start your sessions at around quarter of three today. Please send your responses as soon as you can._

_Professor Quirrell_

Harry was relieved. At least he didn't have to create a lame excuse now to not go to Hagrid's. He borrowed Draco's quill, scribbled _Can't, busy, sorry_ on the back of Hagrid's letter, and _Yes, that would be fine_, on the back of Quirrell's note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had his Friday afternoons free most of the time, because Potions turned out to be one of the most strenuous classes that he had so far.

Potions took places down in one of the dungeons close to the Slytherin common room entrance. Harry had gotten used to the cold, but it was still creepy enough to see pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Professor Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter, our new – celebrity."

Draco, who sat next to Harry, shrugged, just as clueless as he was. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had a keener stare. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry saw that next to him, Draco was smirking, almost as if he was impressed, obviously he wasn't as freaked out as Harry was. Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, anxiously trying to remember what he had reviewed in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. Luckily, Tracey had convinced them to start reviewing the night before, in case a pop quiz was to come.

"Fame cle-," Snape started.

"Draught of the Living Death, sir," said Harry, oblivious that he interrupted Professor Snape. Seeing his sneer, Harry continued cautiously, "is what you would get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood."

"Hmm, yes," said Professor Snape, almost as if he was in pain, "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Granger's hand shot straight up, causing her to almost fall out of her seat. Most of the Slytherins started laughing, except Harry, whose eyes were closed once more.

"I would look in the stomach of a goat, sir," answered Harry. His palms were getting sweaty, Professor Snape was going farther into the book and he had barely remembered that, he honestly took a risk on that last one.

Professor Snape had a vacant look in his eyes, like mind wasn't in 'the here and now' at all. "And finally, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Granger stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling. Harry had the urge to throw a cauldron at her face. He didn't know this one, he knew the chapter, the page number, even paragraph number, but he was drawing up blanks every time he tried to recall what the paragraph read.

Thankfully, Draco saved him. "Professor, could you please call on Granger before she starts stripping for your attention?"

A few people laughed; while a few choked on their own saliva; Harry caught Draco's eye, and Draco winked. Professor Snape, however, ignored the comment.

"Yes well, if Harry Potter, in all his fame, doesn't know, who does?" said Professor Snape mockingly, apparently back in 'the here and now'. "That means sit down, girl." Granger turned a tinge pink and sat down "I daresay the information Potter could provide was correct, and as for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Professor Snape said, "And a point to Slytherin for Draco's comic relief."

Harry frowned, Draco got a point for his joke while he didn't get any for the information he gave that he wasn't even supposed to read yet? _I knew he hated me,_ thought Harry.

Professor Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing only the Gryffindors, and quietly giving helpful hints to his Slytherins. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy and to his disgust, Potter, had achieved the perfect shade of purple when a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Thomas' cauldron into a twisted blob, and the potion was seeping onto the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Professor Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Thomas. Then he rounded on Granger and Patil, who had been working next to Longbottom.

"You—Granger – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Point taken from Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry and Draco both laughed at the girl whom was now almost on the brink of tears. As he saw this, Harry's urge to throw something at her faded. He was now content.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was deflated. Throughout the lesson he was trying to figure out possible reasons for the Professor's dislike towards him. Professor Snape didn't seem the one to dislike someone without good reason, well good enough reasons. To Granger, it was because she was annoying, to the other Gryffindors, they were, well, Gryffindors. Harry just couldn't come to a conclusion as to why the Professor treated him this way, and not like the other Slytherins.

"Cheer up," said Tracey, "Maybe he just didn't want to have you in his house or something. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will fade."

"I could ask him for you," offered Draco.

"No thanks guys," said Harry "I'll just wait it out I guess. Anyways, I have that lesson with Quirrell, catch you guys later.

Tracey and Draco said farewell as Harry made the long trek from the dungeons to the towers.

He arrived just at quarter of three and knocked on the door.

"C-Come in," said Quirrell, his stutter most recognizable.

Harry opened the door and walked in.

"Ah, Harry Potter just the person I was waiting for, please do come in," said Professor Quirrell as he got up from his desk chair and strode over to close the door behind Harry. "Why don't you grab a seat?"

Harry, a bit dumbfounded, found himself in the first row, sitting down.

"Excuse me sir," said Harry, "but where did your stutter go?"

Professor Quirrell had moved himself to his desk, and sat down on top of it.

"Ah yes, the stutter," Quirrell leaned in, making Harry do the same, "Between you and me Harry, I never actually had one."

"Then why…?" asked Harry.

"Lesson one!" Quirrell clapped his hands together and a chalk board appeared out of thin air next to him. He snatched a piece of chalk and wrote _1) Appearances can be deceiving_ upon the board. "You see, one of the best defences is to simply appear you do not have one. Take my stutter for example, could you imagine a powerful wizard with a stutter?" Harry shook his head. "Exactly my point, my boy, even Professor Dumbledore doesn't know it is fake, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Professor Quirrell got his point across, albeit Harry didn't know exactly why the professor wanted to keep it that way, as there was no point in it.

Harry and the professor chatted about the different techniques of defence, from the most creative to the most practical and so forth. Harry found it exhilarating about how much he was learning, and how surprisingly fun it was also. He suspected that there was a lot more information in the turban than the professor showed. The talk soon floated to Harry itself.

"So Harry, how has Slytherin reacted to having you in their house? I must say, most teachers had their bets on Gryffindor," questioned Quirrell.

"Why Gryffindor?" asked Harry.

"Well, it's the house your parents were in if I remember correctly."

"They were?" said Harry, eager to find out more about his parents.

"Oh yes," said Quirrell, "Head Boy and Head Girl also."

Harry, on a 'didn't exactly know what those terms meant but it sounded it important', let his heart swell with pride.

"But enough about them how were your first classes?"

Harry couldn't help but have the feeling that Professor Quirrell was changing the subject on more purpose than just interest. But nevertheless, Harry told the professor of his classes, all about how boring History of Magic was, the stars and different planets in Astronomy, the strict but fair Professor McGonagall, and the dreaded Potions lessons.

"I swear Professor Snape hates me," said Harry.

"Yes, well, I suspect he would, Harry," said Professor Quirrell.

"Why?" Harry asked simply, but there was a lot to that simple question.

"That's for a later time, Harry."

As Harry walked back to the Great Hall for dinner, he couldn't contain his anticipation for the next meeting with Professor Quirrell, it was possibly one of the best things he had done so far this year.

Just as Harry sat down next to Draco, though, Tracey shoved a _Daily Prophet_ into his face. He scanned it quickly and instantly regretted not going to Hagrid's.


	4. Chapter 4

Dark Ascension

Chapter Four

Chance

Ever since Harry was a child he had sorted people into two categories: people he hated and people he wished he knew better, but couldn't. This was mostly due to the Dursleys, because you see, the people in the "hate" group put people in the other group for him. Once the Dursleys thought he was getting too close to an outsider, they'd whisk him away to do chores, and most likely, he'd never see the person again after their talk with the Dursleys. But ever since Hogwarts, people fell into new categories, such as 'the friends' group, where Draco and Tracey and others were, or even 'the weird' group, but the most aggravating group of all was the "really hate and annoying" one. This sort consisted of mostly Gryffindors, in fact, they were all Gryffindors. Still, first-year Slytherins only had Potions with the Gryffindors, so Harry didn't have to put up with them much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Slytherin common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday – and Slytherin and Gryffindor would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just the thing I was looking forward to the most, spoiled by the Gryffindors."

"It's not that bad, Harry," assured Draco, "Maybe one of them will fall off their brooms, after all, we all know how clumsy they can be. Plus, we'll be able to see if Weasel and Finnigan can hold up to their talk."

Both certainly did talk about flying a lot. But then again, everyone who came from wizarding families did. There'd been stories going around the school, such as how Finnigan had one of the best chances to make the team, because the way he told it, he'd spent most of his childhood on a broomstick. Or Weasel's story of how he'd almost hit a hang glider on his brother's old broom. Even Draco was known for talk, stories that somehow always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles helicopters. Harry wasn't sure whether he was lying or not.

Tracey had never been on a broomstick in her life, frankly because she never saw the point in it, and she thought Quidditch was 'a waste of time'. This was quickly followed by Draco and Blaise lecturing her on how it was the greatest sport of all time. Tracey must've been very relieved when their praise of the sport was interrupted by the arrival of mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Professor Quirrell's and Hagrid's notes, something Draco took notice of, for he had always shared what sweets he got from home.

Harry and his friends were just enjoying Draco's new package when Harry noticed that a barn owl had dropped off a small present in front of Longbottom. He gestured for Draco to look, and it was followed by a "later".

And sure enough, after they were done eating, Harry, Draco, and Tracey were on their way to the Gryffindor table after hearing Longbottom say the package was a Remembrall. As they were passing, Draco snatched the ball out of Longbottom's hands.

The Weasel and Finnigan jumped to their feet, and were met by Harry's and Draco's glares. Harry was just about to comment on how Weasley's hair was looking extra red this morning when Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Draco dropped the Remembrall back on the table, with Harry mimicking a crying baby behind him, and Tracey smirking.

"Just looking," said Draco, as they walked away.

***

At three-fifteen that afternoon, Harry, Draco, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their fist flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

There were twenty or so broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry recalled Draco complaining about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left, in other words they were "utterly crap".

Fifteen minutes passed with idle chatter between the Slytherins when finally the Gryffindors showed up, the two houses greeting each other with glowers. Their teacher, Madam Hooch arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, along with Draco's and Tracey's, but theirs was part of the few that did. Greg's and Vince's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Pansy Parkinson's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry.

"Here, Pansy, say it with more confidence," said Harry.

Pansy nodded and said "UP!" with more 'oomph' in it. The broomstick shot right into her hand.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, smiling.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows rectifying their grips. Apparently, much to his dismay, Draco had been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But Longbottom, nervous and jumpy and the nitwit he is, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Longbottom was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, causing Harry to let out a snicker along with Draco. He saw Longbottom gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Longbottom lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Longbottom, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Longbottom, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Tracey, "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Patil."

"Draco!" said Harry, who had spotted something glinting out of the grass, darted forward and picked it up. "It's the stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held up the Remembrall.

"Give it here, Harry," said Draco, "I want to take a closer look at it."

"No, give it to me!" demanded Ron. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Harry and Draco smiled to each other.

"Oh, I don't know Draco," said Harry, "I'm in the mood for a game of catch." He didn't know how to fly, but this was his chance to show how much of an idiot Longbottom was and to put Weasel back in his place, both were starting to annoy him anyway.

"Yes, it is a perfectly fine day for a game of catch," agreed Draco, "And then maybe we'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find it when we're done – how about up a tree?"

Draco shot up in the air on his broomstick, Harry tossed the Remembrall to him, before mounting his own, and kicking hard against ground.

And up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robe whipped out behind him – and in a rush of joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and hear screams of girls back on the ground and a whoop from the boys of Slytherin.

He turned his broomstick so it was adjacent with Draco's in midair. He had that smirk-smile on again.

"If you want it Weasel," said Draco.

"Come and get it!" finished Harry.

Harry was invigorated. This was no doubt, the most brilliant part of Hogwarts he experienced yet, never mind the meeting with Quirrell or magic in general, just flying up in the sky, having a killer time with Draco.

Back down on the ground, Ron and Finnigan nodded to each other before taking a shaky lift off. Harry heard Granger trying to convince them otherwise, but there were already off the ground, almost to their level.

"Give it here," said Weasley, "or we'll take it from you!" But Weasley didn't look as confident at all as he said this. Harry noticed he was gripping the broomstick rather tightly, even though they were sitting still. And Finnigan didn't look so well either; in fact, he looked about ready to throw up.

"Is that so?" said Draco, sneering he threw the ball across behind the two Gryffindors.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and shot towards the other boys, who were slowly turning around. Almost hitting both of them, he went straight through the gap of the two, and caught the Remembrall on the other side. A few Slytherins below were clapping. He threw ball back to Draco; they now instigated a game of Gryffindors-in-the-middle.

"Nice face, Weasel," said Draco, who chucked it back to Harry, "I swear, the more we meet, the more it matches your hair."

"Shut up!" yelled Weasley, as he jumped out of his broom to catch the Remembrall. This would have been impressive, if he had actually had come down on his broom, the ball still in his hands. But both did not happen, he slipped off his broom, while the Remembrall slipped out of his hands. And fell, and kept falling.

It struck Harry, watching Weasley's face full of fear, that he really had nothing against him. He was there as a vent, something to make himself not feel as lost and helpless. And Harry was only teasing him because he needed to fit in, needed the other Slytherins to like him. And because it was fun, and he annoyed Harry, but that was no excuse, was it?

Weasley was still falling, along with the ball, his face pale white. Harry made his decision. He leaned forward and pointed handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, getting close to his objective – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground, he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

Harry turned around quickly; Professor Snape was striding towards him, wand out, having stopped Weasley from what was sure to be quite a crunch. Another whoosh with his wand and the red-haired boy landed with a thud.

"If you'd come with me Potter," said Professor Snape quietly. Harry couldn't tell how angry he was, or even if he was angry, but chances were, he guessed, the Professor was angry.

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Davis –"

"But Weasley was –"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Zabini. Potter, follow me, now."

"He still has Lo-"

"Did you not hear me Miss Granger? I said _enough._"

Harry caught sight of Weasley, who had recovered, and Finnigan's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor Snape's wake as he strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but he somehow knew Professor Snape wasn't going to listen. Professor Snape was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor Snape didn't say a word to him. He wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind him. Maybe he was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. He stomach twisted as he remembered he hadn't exactly thought well of him in the past week.

Professor Snape stopped outside a classroom. He opened the door and poked his heard inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Binns, could I borrow Flint for a moment?"

Flint? Thought Harry, bewildered; as in Marcus Flint?

Yes, it turned out to be the prefect, Flint, whom he had talked to on some occasions. He came out of Binn's class looking confused.

"Follow me," said Professor Snape, and they marched up the corridor, Flint looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor Snape gestured them into a classroom that was empty and looked like it hadn't been used in years. He slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Marcus Flint."

"Yes, we've met before," said Flint.

"Yes, well, Flint, I've found you a new Seeker."

Flint's expression was of pure puzzlement.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Am I the one to joke, boy?" said Snape crisply.

"What about Higgs?" he said still confused.

"Kick him off the team," said Professor Snape, "If Potter wants to go risk his life flying, we might as well get something out of it. Tell me, Potter that was your first time on a broomstick was it not?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor Snape told Flint. "Even managed to provoke the Gryffindors while doing it."

Flint looked at Potter with judging eyes. People seemed to be doing that a lot to him lately.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked.

"Flint's captain of the Slytherin team," Professor Snape explained.

"We'll have to test him to see if he is better than Hi-"started Flint, who was now circling him.

"No, put him in and train him, no other questions," Professor Snape demanded. "And I'll see to it that Professor Dumbledore will bend the first-year rule. Oh, and Potter, I want to hear you're training hard, or I may change my mind about punishing you, after all, cauldrons do tend to get dirty after a day's lesson." The professor nodded to himself. "I daresay if you take after your father in any other way besides Quidditch, you'll be in there anyway."

Professor Snape strode out of the classroom, making Harry stand there absently, thinking about what he had meant by his last sentence.

"Meet me at the pitch sometime next week then, Potter," said Flint excitedly. "If you're better than Higgs like Professor Snape said, we'll surely win the cup again this year. Eight years in a row isn't too shabby now, is it?"

***

"No way!"

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Draco and Tracey what had happened when he'd left the ground with Professor Snape. Draco almost choked on the pumpkin juice he was drinking.

"Seeker?" he said with his smirk-smile, "You owe me for that one Harry, after all it was my throw that made Weasel jump out of his broom."

"Congratulations, Harry," said Tracey, "Youngest house player in about a century if I'm correct?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "How'd you know?"

Tracey reached behind her and pulled out a large book with the titled _Quidditch Through the Ages_. She shoved the book towards Harry. "You might want to read it too."

Harry muttered his thanks, and put the book aside. "Anyway, I start training next week only don't tell anyone, Marcus wants to keep it a secret."

As he said this, two burly fourth-years made their way to Harry, one was a bit taller than the other, but they were both fairly husky.

"I'm Peregrine Derrick," said the taller one, who sat next to Harry.

"And I'm Lucian Bole," said the other, taking a seat next to Derrick.

"We're the beaters for the team," continued Derrick, "and our job is to you protect you from these things called bludgers, big round balls that hurt like hell if it hits you."

"But I'll tell you this," said Bole in a less than friendly manner, "if you're not doing your job, we won't do ours."

"Just a warning chap," Derrick said as he patted Harry on the back, he leaned in for the next part, "If what Flint told us is true, we won't need to do that, eh?"

The two husky beaters got up and left.

"Hmm, lovely," said Draco, looking as if their recent company wasn't lovely at all, "Anyway that favour you owe me…"

"Yes, Draco," answered Harry, "I'll put in a good word for you for the team."

"Thanks mate," said Draco with the smirk-smile.

Derrick and Bole's departure was met by new arrivals, which were much less welcome. The Weasel flanked by Finnigan and Thomas.

"How's being expelled, Potter?" said Finnigan.

"When does your train leave back to the Muggles," teased Weasley.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, setting it on the table. He ignored the Gryffindors otherwise.

"Neville's Remembrall!" said Thomas. "Give that back!"

"How about you win it back?" said Draco, snatching the ball and tossing it up in the air. "Let's see if you're dueling skills are as good as your flying skills. Merlin help you if they are. What's the matter? Too scared to face us in a Wizard's duel?"

"Of course we aren't," said Weasley, "Finnigan is my second, who's Potter's?"

"I am," said Draco, "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked. Winner gets the Remembrall and bragging rights."

When the Gryffindors had gone, Harry looked at Draco expectantly.

"Wizard's duel?" said Harry, "And what do you mean you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over you die," said Draco.

"But none of that will happen, because you guys aren't actually going right?" interrupted Tracey.

"Do you mean we're chickening out?" asked Draco, disgusted.

"No, Draco," said Tracey "Here's a better plan," she leaned in to whisper; "We let it slip to Filch that there are going to be students in the trophy room at midnight."

"And we won't even go!" said Draco excitedly.

"But Weasel and Finny will," finished Harry.

"Brilliant Tracey!" said the boys together.

"I know."

***

And so at the end of the day, the three found themselves in front of Filch's office, wondering the best way of telling the caretaker without actually having to meet him face to face.

"We could just slip a note under the door," offered Harry.

"Yes, but what if he doesn't notice it?" said Tracey.

Harry shrugged. It wasn't that they were afraid of Filch. It was more or less that they were on bad terms with him since the accident that happened on first day, and they doubted that he would actually listen to them. And so they stood there, in the entrance hall, wondering what possible ways they could pull this off.

"I hope your three aren't loitering around waiting for trouble."

Draco, Harry, and Tracey both jumped at the voice and turned around. There stood the greasy-haired professor, a saviour to their wishes.

"Professor Snape!" said Draco, excitingly.

"Draco Malfoy," said the Professor, mockingly.

"We actually meant to speak to you."

"Is that so?" He eyed the three of them suspiciously.

Draco looked around; making sure everyone was out of earshot. "We heard that a couple of Gryffindors would be out after curfew tonight. And they said they would be in the trophy room at around midnight, to meet up with other students."

"Should I even bother to ask how you have attained this information?" asked Professor Snape.

"It's a bit of a long story," explained Draco.

"I'm sure," said the Professor, "And are you certain your source is correct?"

The three shared a knowing smile. "Positive," they chimed simultaneously.

"You three had better be, Filch does not take kindly to false leads." He nodded at them, well, at Draco and Tracey, and strode away.

Once he had left, the three let out of breath they didn't know they'd been holding in.

"The Gryffindors should be two less tomorrow," said Draco triumphantly.

Harry threw his arms around his friends, "Or at least down a couple of hundred points."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Chapter's a bit shaky. One of those "connector" chapters.

A/N - For those of you that have left your thoughts, thank you.

* * *

Dark Ascension

Chapter Five

Damn

Harry, Draco, and Tracey couldn't believe their eyes when they saw Weasel and Finny eating their breakfast at the Gryffindor table the next morning. But to their delight the two boys looked filled with anxiety and as the trio sat down to eat that morning, there were already rumors going around on how the Gryffindors lost one-hundred points last night.

"I heard that they got caught by Filch trying to go into that third-floor door," said Blaise.

"Well I heard that they tried sneaking into the girl's bathroom," supposed Pansy.

The three shared a look of humour and self pride. They'd done it. They got the Weasel and Finny. Throughout their breakfast, the rumours were far and wide, some getting close to the exact thing, and some as far as way as possible, such as Vince's idea that the two were being promiscuous with each other late at night and got caught. Harry wasn't sure if he was being serious or not, he was concentrating more on the fact that Vince knew the word 'promiscuous' and had used it in the correct context.

Harry didn't know much about Vince, and his friend Greg, they didn't talk much. He assumed they were a bit meat-head material. But Harry never really got close enough to tell. In fact, apart from Draco and Tracey, he was on a more on an acquaintance basis with his fellow Slytherins in his year. He knew Theo and Blaise were the jokers, Pansy, although she would deny this, thought she was something of a princess and would always be found gossiping with Daphne Greengrass, and there was Millicent Bulstrode, whom Harry was glad he didn't know too well, because in his opinion, she looked like the female version of Greg or Vince.

The students in the other houses were anonymous to Harry as he looked around; he only recognized some of the Gryffindors, such as Weasel or Finny. Both were looking paler than usual, and once the flock of the usual owls came and went, Weasel looked even paler. His eyes widened in fright when a letter had dropped right in front of him. He carefully picked it up and opened it. As he started to read, his hands started to shake more and more and his eyes were beginning to well up. Harry's palms started to sweat, he didn't feel so well. He guessed what was in that letter, something horrible from his parents, and it was partly his fault. Harry tried to shake off the feeling, but it just wouldn't go away.

Luckily, something smashed down on the table right in front of him to take Harry out of his thoughts. In front of him was a long, thin package, in which Harry was just about to open, when a letter dropped onto the parcel. He ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand and, as I said, do not tell anyone, or the plan will be foiled. This was donated by Mr. Lucius Malfoy, who somehow heard about your good, or bad, fortune. Sending your regards would be mandatory Mr. Potter. Marcus Flint will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session. Remember: Do not mess up, or you will be spending a lot more time in my classroom, cleaning cauldrons._

_Professor S. Snape_

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the not to Draco to read.

"What would your father want in a thank-you letter?" asked Harry as he borrowed Tracey's quill and paper.

"Just the usual, 'Thank you for your kind generosity, it will not be forgotten', should work," said Draco, examining the parcel.

After Harry was done with that letter, he started to write another on a different piece of paper. "And what would you like in your thank-you letter?" asked Harry not looking up.

"What?" said Draco, confused.

"What would you like in your thank-you letter," Harry repeated, "How else would your father do this, if not for you?"

"Oh. A simple, 'Thank you Draco, you're the best, and you're one of the best looking, friends I have, and I will guarantee you a spot on the Quidditch team next year', should suffice."

Harry quickly scribbled it down, and sent off the two letters with Hedwig, who happened to be eating some his bacon at the time.

"Why not just say it right now though?" asked Draco.

"Too awkward," explained Harry, shaking his head. He saw Tracey roll her eyes. Harry also looked behind her, and saw Weasley had gone. His stomach twisted in a knot. He simply had to apologize to him, or at least make it up somehow. Harry knew he'd gone too far after seeing his face. He decided to do it the next time he saw the Weasel and could talk to him separately without Draco or Tracey. After all, it was really thanks to Weasley he got the broomstick.

They left the hall quickly after that, wanting to unwrap the parcel in privately before their first class. But once they had reached the dungeons, after many questioning him what was in the package, and Harry simply shrugging, it was time for lessons.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on them though. It kept wandering down to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted down his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating and after saying his farewells to Draco and Tracey, he rushed to the dungeons to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Harry sighed to himself, as the broomstick rolled onto his bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Flint, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling — he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Marcus Flint had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Nice," said Flint. He always spoke with an aggressive tone, whether or not what he was saying was aggressive, Harry noted. "Snape was right to place you on the team. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening and then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"All right," said Flint. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to under­stand, hell, even Gryffindors can kind of play it. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers; I'm one of them along with Montague and Pucey."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Flint took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Flint. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Listening? I'm not repeating myself."

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recited. "So — that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"Basketball?" said Flint, annoyed. "It's a bloody Muggle sport. Don't even compare the two."

"All right," said Harry quickly, "Sorry."

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper, ours is Bletchley. He has to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"Be patient," said Flint. "Here, take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a rounders bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Flint said. "These two are Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box; he was reminded of Derrick and Bole's conversation with him and shivered.

"Stand back," Flint warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air — it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Flint, who dove on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Flint panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team — Derrick and Bole —"

"Yeah, they had a talk with me already," said Harry.

"Oh yes, that. Don't worry, they say that to everyone. Anyway, their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So — think you've got all of that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Good," said Flint.

"Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hop­ing he sounded offhand.

"Look, if you're scared, we can always call back Higgs. He'll be more than happy to take his place back."

"No, no, it's fine. I was just er- wondering."

"Right."

Flint reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"_This,_" said Flint, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most im­portant ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, do whatever it takes really, just don't get caught. 'Cause whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

"Well, that's it — think you got it all?"

Harry nodded He understood what he had to do all right; it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"All right, I'm going to release the Snitch and record your time," said Flint, pulling out a stop watch, "it's a bit dark, but we play in any condition, so get used to it. On three ..."

"One-"

Harry mounted his broom.

"Two-"

He bent his legs down.

"Three!"

Flint let go of the Snitch, and Harry pushed off the ground hard. The Snitch immediately took a sharp turn to the right and went upwards, and Harry followed closely. The golden ball dipped down suddenly, going into a dive. Wind whistling in his ears, Harry dove too. Getting closer, he stretched out his hands, - a foot farther – six inches – four – the Snitch was just about to touch the ground when it shot straight up. On instinct it seemed, Harry jumped off his broom at once, hoping it would be enough. It was, and he landed, a bit hard, on the ground, but the golden ball wrapped in his hands.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry heard Flint yell from across the pitch, "ten seconds! The Quidditch cup is ours!"

Perhaps it was because of the recent high he got from Quidditch, but once he trudged back up to the castle and saw Weasley alone, coming out of the Great Hall looking sick, he took his chance to apologize, or at least try to.

"Weasley!" called Harry as Weasel was just about to go up to staircase. Harry strode towards him.

Weasley turned around and answered with a snarl. "What do you want, Potter?"

"Listen," Harry started, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for you know, playing that trick on you, and they way I er- treated you."

"What do you really want?" said Weasley, exasperated.

"That was it, just to apologize for that trick and stuff," Harry said lamely, his palms were sweating.

"Well it was a pretty dirty trick you and Malfoy played," snapped Weasley.

"I know and I wa-"

"No, I don't want to hear it because I know you don't mean it, so why bother?" interrupted Weasley, annoyed.

"Because I do mean it, I went too far, I'll admit that."

"Yeah, well, it's too late now, so sod off," he turned to leave.

"Fine!" yelled Harry as the other marched away. "I'm trying to apologize but if you're just going to be an arse about it, never mind."

Weasley stopped dead in his tracks and swung around slowly, his complexion red with anger. "You want to know who's an arse, you are." He was face to face with Harry now, only a few feet away. "I barely even knew you, and you started making fun of me, just because your friend, who's also an arse was doing it. I admit I looked up to you a bit, but you just turned out to be a prick. No wonder you didn't get into Gryffindor you're too much of a coward. So why don't you just sod off with your slimy Slytherin friends."

"Watch your mouth Weasley." The two boys who were arguing failed to notice the small crowd they attracted. Once Draco and Tracey had figured out what was happening, they immediately came to Harry's side.

"Get out of this, Malfoy," barked Weasel.

"I don't think you could afford it, Weasel," Draco sneered.

"Oi! We could always make you though; your precious father isn't here for you to run behind." Finnigan had just joined and flanked Weasley, who was now glaring at Harry with utmost anger, Harry stared right back, almost mocking him to throw that first punch.

"At least my father's a wizard," Draco shot back.

"I ought to punch you for that," said Finnigan.

Harry didn't hear much of this though. His ears were pounding. His heart was pounding. And his palms were sweaty. He felt something inside him about to boil out, something that if he let it, he wouldn't be able to stop it. So he continued to his glare at the Weasel, daring him to make the next move.

"Ron, Seamus, stop this right now," Granger's bossy voice could be heard before she even fought through the whole crowd to see them. "Before you get expelled, and before you get more house points taken away. How selfish ca-"

"Granger, for once, could you please, shut your trap. No one cares about what you have to say," Tracey had got her two cents in and it hit home with Granger. Her face turned into a snarl quicker before the others could even recognize it was a snarl and stormed off.

Apparently Weasley took this distraction as a sign, and had Harry tackled and pinned against the ground before he realized it. Harry felt something solid hit his face two or three times before deciding to fight back. He kneed Weasel in the gut and rolled them over. Harry now had the advantage and gave Weasley two good punches. He was about to give a third when a loud whistle rang throughout the hall.

Harry was heavily breathing when he slumped off Weasley and looked around. He was unsuccessful during the argument to notice that they had at least a fourth of the school hear watching them. He also saw that Draco and Finnigan were about to get in a tussle too, and Tracey was about to come up behind Finnigan with a large book raised above her head. And then he spotted Professor McGonagall whose lips were a thin line and a face like a brick.

"Never – in all my years – have a seen such a – first years too!" she was quite speechless and her glasses flashed furiously.

"You five, my office. Now!" she made sure to have eye contact with each and every one of them before walking away.

The five first years drooped and followed in her wake. Harry's lip hurt and he was sure it was puffy and bleeding. The worst injuries though, were the ones he gave to Weasley. Harry had given him what was surely to be a black eye and his nose looked bent out of shape. That was the only joy he got out of the walk to wherever they were going. Harry didn't want to look to see how his friends were, filled with shame, he kept his eyes down. He had dragged them into this, and if it weren't for him, maybe they wouldn't be in trouble. Harry could tell was going to be expelled, for sure this time. He had no doubt. And probably all of them were too. He sighed, he gave it a good run, he thought. It was most relieving when Draco and Tracey patted him on the back, letting him know they were all right, but he still felt guilty. He almost thought they should've listened to Granger.

The five were led up to the first floor, and down a corridor. At the end of it, Professor McGonagall held open a door for them to enter, and slammed it shut once they were all in.

Harry looked around, this was definitely her office, he saw a relatively plain desk, with the usual assortments in perfectly straight order, and the walls were pretty blank too, except perhaps a picture of a younger Professor McGonagall with Stonehenge behind her. But the dead giveaway, was the nametag on her desk that read: _Professor McGonagall - Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Head of Gryffindor House_. There were three seats in the room, one behind her desk and the others facing the desk. She sat down on hers, and let out a sigh. The five of them, still standing, did not want to make things awkward, so they remained standing.

"Now, I'm not going to expel you five if that's what you're wondering," she started.

Harry relaxed at once, as did the others. He almost let out a loud 'whoop' but decided against it. Now was not the time.

The five stood there uncomfortably for what felt like hours, looking everywhere but Professor's McGonagall's piercing eyes. She nodded to herself and spoke their punishment.

"Now, you students have to understand, fighting is not something we tolerate here at Hogwarts. And since I'm not going to expel you, or suspend, the fairest punishment I can think of is detention, every Friday and Saturday for the next month and a half three hours each night. It's final."

There was a sharp intake of air throughout the punished five.

"But, Professor, that includes Halloween," whined Finnigan

"That's final. Maybe you should've thought of that before fighting. You're lucky I don't lock you five up in a room somewhere and simply loose the key. And since the point deduction would put both of your houses below zero, this punishment is as fair as I can make it."


	6. Chapter 6

Dark Ascension

Chapter Six

Blood

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week, detention, which involved mostly cleaning cauldrons or dusting the trophy room, and on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized he'd already been at Hogwarts for two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning, they awoke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Harry groaned inwardly as he walked to his first classes though. He'd heard all about the big feast tonight, the food, the fun, and he'd be missing it all because of detention.

But as Harry entered Charms that day, the ever-looming evening was already forgotten, for Professor Flitwick had announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Blaise Zabini, while Draco was with Pansy Parkinson and Tracey with Theodore Nott. They were all rather content with their partners, as they were relatively close together anyway.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was all very difficult. Harry and Blaise swished and flicked, but neither of them seemed to do it just right. Harry's feather rolled over as if it was blown by a slight breeze while Blaise's just lay on the desktop.

Blaise got so impatient that he attached his wand to the feather with a string and started twirling it around. Professor Flitwick nearly bounded with joy until he realized Blaise's movements were all wrong and the string slipped off the wand causing the feather to float to the ground, much to Blaise's dismay. They all shared a good laugh at that.

Hermione Granger was the first one to actually have her feather rise off the desk, no strings attached.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

This was closely followed by Tracey's feather hovering about five feet above their heads.

The two were the only ones to succeed at all during the class.

As the bell rang seven o'clock, the trio found it most difficult to meet with Filch at the front entrance of the school, where they met every Friday and Saturday, and not go to the feast. The entrance hall was filled with delicious aromas of pumpkin, potatoes, and sweets of the sort. But reluctantly, they found Filch waiting with Weasley and Finnigan at the front door.

The two groups hadn't even glanced at each other since they were given their punishments. Harry guessed Weasley and Finnigan were having it worse off than him though, for a week straight they were taunted by the rest of the Slytherins cheering, "Thanks, we owe you guys one!" because the hourglasses now showed that Slytherin now had a large lead on the other houses. Harry couldn't find himself caring about the two Gryffindors though.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

"I bet you'll think twice about fighting after this one," he said leering at them. "Oh yes, cleaning and dusting are nothing compared to what we have in stored tonight. Hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

Harry was suddenly glad he decided not to ditch and come here. He couldn't possibly begin wonder to what extent Filch meant by 'worse', even he sounded delighted at this punishment they were going to receive.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see light from the windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is tha' you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry's stomach twisted itself; after denying Hagrid's invitation that one day, Harry hadn't really talked to him, in fact he forgot all about him.

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, with an enormous black boarhound at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"About' time," he said. "I bin waitin fer half an hour already. How're you doin' Harry, haven't spoken to yer since Diagon."

"Fine, thanks," replied Harry, avoiding Hagrid's gaze.

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Ts'not your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at midnight," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

The first years turned to Hagrid and Draco was the first one to voice their thoughts, "What did he mean by 'what's left of them'?"

"Well, yeh see, we're going to go into the forest tonight."

Harry saw Weasley and Draco's eyes go wide.

"The forest?" Draco repeated. "We can't go in there at night – I've heard there's all sorts of things in there... _werewolves_, _vampires _- "

"I'm not going into that forest!" said Weasley, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Now, I'll 'ave none of that. We're going in and that's final. Unless yeh want to get expelled?"

Draco and Weasley both glared at him furiously.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Come over 'ere a moment."

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that silvery stuff shinin' on the ground? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. Second time this year, I found one dead back in August. We have to try an' find the poor beast, might 'ave to put it out its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Draco, his voice full of fear. Harry guessed he didn't trust in Hagrid's ability to keep them safe.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid, pointing to himself, then the hound. "An' yer keep to the path. Right, we'll split inter two groups an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' round since last night at least."

"We want Fang," said Draco, looking at the dog's long teeth protruding out over its lips slightly. Harry seconded the statement.

Reluctantly Hagrid agreed. "All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Ron, an' Seamus go one way, an' Draco, Tracey, Harry, an Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us find the unicorn, we'll send off green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now – thay's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' I'll come find yeh – so, be careful. Let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and the broke into their two groups, Harry's took the right while Hagrid's took the left.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground while Fang lead the way ahead. Every so often a ray of moonlight fell through into the dark from above to light a spot of silver blood on the forest litter.

Harry looked at Draco's disgusted expression.

"I swear, once my father hears about this, that oaf is going to lose his job, permanently," Draco muttered irritably, as he wiped off unicorn blood he'd just found on his robes.

"Do vampires and werewolves really live here?" asked Harry, more out of curiosity than fear.

"So I've heard," he said.

"Then why are we in here by ourselves?" Tracey said, worried.

"Don't worry, we have Fang," said Harry sarcastically, "He's a bit of a letdown though." He gestured in front of them where Fang had stopped to bend down and sniff his privates. Tracey laughed and Draco smirked sideways at Harry.

They continued down the path in silence. Harry could hear running water, there must be a stream somewhere close by, he thought. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path and it seemed to be getting thicker.

"Harry Potter."

The three stood still in their tracks, afraid to turn around and find out who or what had said Harry's name. But Fang let out a happy yelp in front of them, and bounded backwards towards the voice. They followed Fang with their eyes, and what they saw made their jaws drop.

Behind them stood a – was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with white- hair and astonishing sapphire eyes, but below that was a horse's gleaming palomino body, with a long, blondish tail. It knelt gracefully to pet the boarhound.

"Harry Potter," it repeated, looking up and rising once more. "My name is Firenze."

"But you're a centaur!" cried Tracey faintly.

"And you are a human," Firenze smiled. "I must ask why you three have come into the forest this night."

"Er- we were forced to," said Harry, lamely. "Hagrid told us to search for a dead unicorn. You haven't seen it by any chance, have you?"

"No, but if you follow the blood, it will lead you there, I'm sure," he suggested serenely.

"Yes, we figured that much out," stated Draco, annoyed.

"Then there is no more I can help you with," said Firenze, "And I'm afraid I must leave you now. Be careful, Harry Potter. Very careful. Mars is bright tonight."

The centaur left quickly, leaving the first years slightly awestruck.

"Didn't know there were centaurs in here," said Tracey as they walked down the path. They had been trotting along for almost a half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.

"I'm sure there are lots of things in the forests we don't know about," said Draco.

Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look –" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Draco and Tracey.

Something bright-white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Even Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, clawing across its body until it lowered its head and leached on to the wound in the animal's side.

Draco let out a terrible scream and bolted – as did Fang. Tracey quickly pointed her wand to the sky and sent red sparks shooting up as she tugged on Harry's robes, urging him to follow. But Harry couldn't move, his legs felt weighted to the ground. Giving up, she fled after Draco.

The hooded figure raised its head and looked right into Harry – unicorn blood was dripping from its mouth. In a smooth and fluid motion it rose swiftly towards Harry, and still he couldn't move.

Then a pain like nothing before pierced his head, it was as though his scar was on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward as another figure swept up from behind him and raced forward to stand between Harry and the other hooded form.

The pain in Harry's head subsided momentarily and he was able to look up. In the clearing, two dark, cloaked figures stood tensed, with hoods casting their faces into shadows. The one standing before Harry was the taller of the two, though it was tall by any standards, perhaps six and half feet Harry guessed.

There they stood, perfectly still, though Harry could feel the tension in the air as his palms were beginning to sweat. The shorter growled a challenge to the newcomer. It accepted, and in a blur the figure lunged forward towards the other as it reached out to where its throat should be. The attempt failed and they started to grapple.

Harry knew at once these beings were anything but ordinary human or wizard, they moved with too much speed and grace.

He looked away from the battle and searched for his best escape route through the trees. He needed to get out of here, fast.

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms picked him up. The taller adversary had somehow momentarily knocked the other one out. With fear in every inch of his body, Harry slowly looked into the face of the cloaked figure, and instantly wished he hadn't. Under the hood was ghostly pale face that was surrounded by dark hair, and fangs, actual, gleaming fangs, and terrible blood-red eyes. All of a sudden it let out a horrible growl as if stabbed, and Harry cringed as he was hoisted under its arms.

The creature charged towards the other cloaked beast and Harry felt the collision rock his holder's body as the figures both screeched and snarled at each other once more.

Blood splattered Harry's face, although he couldn't tell who it belonged to and he was dropped to the ground with a thud. He looked up into the deadened eyes of the unicorn. His hands and knees sank slightly into the damp ground where the silver blood has seeped into the dirt, but as Harry tried to rise his scar roared aflame again and he was blinded by a green light. He could barely watch the first figure slither away into the forest tucking his wand under its cloak. But where did the other go, he faintly thought.

Then right before his eyes, he saw the red-eyed creature drop before him. Its face was twisted in pain, and blood ran from its mouth. Harry guessed he was wounded somewhere else, as more blood ran out beneath it at an alarming rate, coming close towards him.

Harry couldn't care less though; his body felt sore and his mind hazy. The last thing he remembered was how the red blood seemed to bounce off the silver, before he drifted off into unconsciousness with a strange taste in his mouth.

He slowly opened his eyes to a barren dessert, nothing but sand dunes all round him. A faint wind played with the sand, tossing it lazily to and fro. The first thing he noticed was that he was amazingly thirsty. His lips and throat felt dry like the dessert surrounding him and the sun's rays were scorching his skin. The second thing he noticed was that he was sitting in a chair. He tried to get up and found out that his wrists were tied tightly to the chair with a rope. Harry panicked, and struggled with his bonds.

"Do not fight, child."

Harry immediately looked up. Almost completely out of thin air, it seemed, appeared a tall man with long black hair that stretched down his back. He had dim blue eyes, a narrow face, and fangs. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked up at man again but the fangs were still there. It was peculiar though, but Harry could've sworn he saw this man not long ago. He searched back through his memories and... there. He was the other cloaked figure from the clearing, the one that had picked him up, only this time, his eyes were blue and his clothing simple. In fact, he was barely wearing any clothing except shorts that seemed to have once been trousers before the bottoms were ripped off. His torso was naked but very built up, as if from years of training or working out. He was smiling down at Harry now, barely two feet away.

"Let me help you with those ropes." He had a deep but smooth sort of voice, like something you'd at an opera house. He walked around the chair and started to undo the bonds.

"Thank you," Harry tried to say though his voice cracked through dryness.

The man heard him though and responded with a "don't mention it, child." After he was done untying, the stranger asked Harry is he was thirsty.

Harry nodded, giving up talking. It hurt too much.

"Then follow me," he said, walking away.

And Harry did, they walked in silence across the dessert for the about a half hour. He grew tired and even more dehydrated than he was before as the sun beat down on him. While Harry was trudging along he observed that the only other thing out in the dessert besides him and this man was sand, sand... and more sand. In fact, Harry was surprised the man knew where he was going, everything looked alike to him. But after all, he knew little about them man he was following.

It came upon Harry that he didn't exactly know this stranger and shouldn't really be following him. The man was in many ways stronger than he was and he didn't have his wand.

A sudden sinking feeling washed over Harry. He didn't have his wand. Harry was surprised his palms could produce sweat with what how thirsty he was and the heat and all. Hopefully, the stranger was true to his word, and led them towards water. If he didn't, Harry had very little options left.

After they reached the top of the largest dune yet, the man stopped and let out a content sigh. Harry followed his gaze, and he too sighed. They had reached a coast, with sparkling water that met the horizon, and gentle waves rolling up the sand.

The man broke out into a run towards the water. Harry watched as his feet barely touched the sand before pushing off again; it was as though he was gliding across. Harry quickly followed suit, but found himself tumbling instead of gliding down the sand.

As the man reached the shore line, he fell into the sea, cupping water in his hands and drinking greedily. Harry imitated his actions, and dove into the water, his whole entire body becoming soaked along with his clothes. It felt wonderful. But as he was about to drink he saw the liquid was not water, but a red substance. His stomach churned within him and he fell backwards … into more red. Harry looked around in horror as the water surrounding him turned into the red liquid and the smell of blood clogged his nostrils and the air, making it hard to breathe.

The blood was thick against his skin, and he scrambled back terrified when strong hands seized him by the waist and heaved him up into the air. Harry screamed as he went flying further into the sea of blood, all light rapidly disappeared as he found himself submerged in darkness. The liquid felt heavy, as though it was weighing him down. He kicked upwards trying to swim but two hands grasped his shoulders and neck, holding him down. Harry thrashed about, trying to break free; but he was running out of air and energy, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He scratched and clawed at the man's hands, tearing at skin, but he was relentless.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but it was quickly muffled as blood rushed in, drowning out any sound.


End file.
